Troy Renck

Washington Redskins quarterback Robert Griffin III injures his leg as he goes after a fumble after a bad snap in the fourth quarter against the visiting Seattle Seahawks on Sunday. (Harry E. Walker, MCT)

Football is a brutish sport, reserved for the bigger, stronger, faster and, most notably, tougher.

Sunday, Robert Griffin III was everything that is right and wrong with the NFL. He is the prototype of the modern athlete, but not even he can outrun the culture that exists. Not that he'd want to.

Griffin was bent on playing his first playoff game against the Seattle Seahawks. He clumped through practice last week with a sore right knee, apparently showing well enough to convince coaches he should start. With a cumbersome brace protecting his right knee, Griffin limped around end on his first carry, looking more like Willis Reed than Willis McGahee.

After two touchdown passes early, the rookie sensation was ineffective and frighteningly immobile. Coach Mike Shanahan, who built his résumé with back-to-back Super Bowl wins leading the Broncos, hung with his star until Griffin fell awkwardly face-first onto the green-painted dirt in the fourth quarter.

The controversy followed quickly: Should Griffin have played, and if so, should he have been removed during the game when it was obvious he couldn't run with his normal speed or elusiveness?

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According to The Washington Post, an initial examination of Griffin's right knee revealed a partial tear of the lateral collateral and anterior cruciate ligaments, creating a potential chilling, lengthy absence. The Associated Press reported Griffin will have surgery Wednesday to have the LCL repaired, with the ACL re-evaluated during that procedure. Griffin tore his ACL in 2009 at Baylor, and there's always the possibility that he will return less explosive if another operation is required.

The low-hanging fruit is to rip Shanahan for not sitting his quarterback, if not because of he was injured then because of poor performance. Griffin was hurting his team, leaving the offense rudderless after Washington built a 14-0 lead. But Shanahan understands the repercussions of a pocket change, and understands the dynamic of the NFL locker room.

Griffin is an inspirational leader, his arm so magical that one pass could have been the decisive play in the final quarter. Teammates, guaranteed, didn't want him on the bench.

Shanahan is not a villain, but rather a product of the system. Coaches have a great deal at stake, primarily employment, or in Shanahan's case, a legacy. They are hired to win games. Period. Concern for the players' well-being is optional.

Photos: NFL

RGIII was drafted to revive the franchise. He wasn't going to miss this. A first home playoff game is a coronation, where legends are born to a John Facenda soundtrack.

What this situation illustrates is that players and coaches need a third party to remove them from the decision-making process.

The league has a system in place for dealing with concussions. Likewise, a protocol must be established before a player returns to the field from other injuries.

When Griffin originally hurt his knee last month, there was confusion. Shanahan said Griffin returned that day because Dr. James Andrews, on the sideline, had cleared him. Andrews said that wasn't the case because he never examined Griffin, seemingly putting the onus back on the coach. Tuesday, Andrews backtracked, saying there was simply a communication problem. Shanahan thought that an Andrews acknowledgment on the sideline was a signal that Griffin was OK.

Amid the head-shaking about the veracity of those two stories lies the issue. A new process, as NFLPA boss DeMaurice Smith discussed Tuesday, must be implemented. The player and coach are fully invested in the moment, the game's outcome, not whether a guy will be able to play next season (which could be in jeopardy for RGIII) or walk without a cane after he retires.

Fair or not, team doctors have long carried a stigma in sports that they tilt toward the club's interest over the patients.

An independent voice is necessary. Griffin was never going to remove himself from the game.

No superstar thinks his team is better without him, regardless of his health. Remember when the Bears' Jay Cutler watched from the sidelines of a playoff game two years ago? He was crucified for not playing hurt (he was later diagnosed with a sprained MCL in his knee), namely by current and former players.

As such, Griffin's decision, even if short-sighted, makes complete sense. Griffin said afterward he would have been upset had he been removed, ignoring the reality of how limited he was. That's how most athletes are wired, perpetually blurring the lines when deciding if they are just hurt or injured.

Shanahan listened to his quarterback, who told him he was fine. Again, what was Griffin going to say, "No, coach, I can't go"? It doesn't work that way in sports, particularly in the NFL.

In a league that is built around violence, the players need more than helmets and pads for armor. The league must protect the players from themselves.

Not all kids who play baseball are uniformed with fancy script across their chests, traveling to $1,000 instructional camps and drilled how to properly hit the cut-off man. Some kids just play to play.